Doughnut shop fuels protesters, city police alike

But lately the shop has been doing beaucoup business because it's a stone's throw from the Federal Plaza, where protesters have been gathering over the last few days opposing the war.

This small store has been where folks come to stock up on a few rations, including coffee and doughnuts. It's where they go over last-minute tactical plans and pointers--"Remember, if there's tear gas, stay low"--and where voluntary medics come to assemble first-aid kits. It's also where police, dressed in riot gear, and protesters, dressed in everything from gym shoes to wing tips, can joke with one another as they stand in line, moving toward the checkout counter.

Last Thursday, the day after the U.S. invaded Iraq, you could look out of the store's window and watch the small knot of folks gathering in the plaza. As the time neared for the rally to start, the crowd began to grow into a blanket of color amid hovering dark-metal office buildings.

Earlier this year, I wrote a column questioning the efficacy of protest marches. I wondered whether they had become so numerous--people speaking out about everything from immigration laws to boosting the minimum wage--that perhaps they had lost their power to sway public opinion or to change policy. Could they still make a difference?

About an hour before the rally was to begin, I sat in this store watching a group that ran the gamut of age, race, ethnicity. I couldn't help but feel that although a war had started, the efforts of protesters here and around the world were far from a failure, and far from over. Too much is still at stake to be quiet. Will American Muslims have a voice in rebuilding Iraq? Will some "coalition of the willing" go into North Korea or Iran next?

Amid the gathering in the store, a homeless man, a regular, stared at a black-and-white television screen, a security monitor, mounted high on a wall. He was watching the growing crowd behind him. Of course, he could have turned around to watch, but this was the perspective of his choosing.

Not long after, Mohammed Ali Khan, a Pakistani-American with the Chicago chapter of the American Muslim Council, entered the shop for coffee.

Khan had spent the day explaining to local newspaper editorial boards why he opposes this war. Though he supported going after Iraqi leader Saddam Hussein, he feared too many innocents would die.

I asked him why it was important for him to continue protesting even though the war was under way. He said that one of the reasons you won't see many older immigrants protesting is because they still hold the memories of living in countries where they didn't have the freedom to speak out.

"Over there, if you try to get involved, they shoot you," said Khan. "You may not see a lot of Muslims around us, but what makes me feel good is to see the war has connected so many communities."

There was the Chicago man who had been a merchant seaman and anti-war protester during the Vietnam War and the Oak Park man who hadn't protested since the Soviets invaded Afghanistan. There was the Chicago Public Schools teacher who believed money spent on this war would be better funneled toward education.

There was the older disabled man who had marched during the civil rights movement. With gnarled hands, he stood by the window pinning protest buttons for sale to a felt board: "Love the soldier. Hate the war." "No blood for oil." "It's the Economy, Stupid."

There were even a few who said they hadn't planned to attend the rally. They were heading home from work, but decided to take a detour over to the plaza.

Movements take time, vision, a willingness to tick some people off.

Somewhere history will record that days after this war began, the voices of dissent continued despite national polls that suggested increasing support. Protest is as much about the individual as it is about the collective. You make of it what you want. You march or write letters or place lights in your windows. Gratification is not necessarily immediate.

On Thursday, when the rally finally began, all of the protesters emptied out of the doughnut shop. The homeless man who had been staring at the security monitor now sat in a corner, huddled over a cup of coffee as voices and fists were raised in the distance.